


Regret

by Yuki_White



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Honesty, Introspection, Monologue, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Regret, Self-Hatred, Telling His Tale, What did Draco Malfoy say at his trial?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 22:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16983297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuki_White/pseuds/Yuki_White
Summary: You won’t find anyone alive filled with more regret than I. Or, well, perhaps you might but it would be a steep task indeed.What did I do to be full of such remorse?Well…- Draco Malfoy, 17, at his Trial before the Wizengamot.





	Regret

You won’t find anyone alive filled with more regret than I. Or, well, perhaps you might but it would be a steep task indeed.

What did I do to be full of such remorse?

Well… It’s my own fault really, if I’m to be entirely honest. Very much a bed of my own making. I was young (although, in reality, not much younger than I am now, even though I _feel_ far older) and I made many terrible choices, though at the time it truly did feel as though there really was no other option. So, I allowed myself to be influenced.

I tortured people. Innocent people who certainly did not deserve it – regardless of their blood status. I stood by and watched as others tortured people. My own aunt – madwoman that she was – tortured a muggleborn (I won’t say who, for her sake more than mine) in my own childhood manor home right in front of me. It was barbaric. And awful.

I have seen murder and death and done nothing, nothing at all, to prevent it. I was a part of it all. I _chose_ to be a part of it – when I was young and knew nothing of the world. I only knew of the fanciful tales that my father used to spin for me. Tales of how much more superior pure-blooded witches and wizards supposedly were to everyone else, most especially to that of magicless muggles and squibs.

Why is it only now that I question the validity of those beliefs and tales?

He used to whisper to me late at night long after my mother had departed to bed, as though imparting a great secret upon me, about how it was believed by all witches and wizards of intelligence and importance that muggleborns – _mudbloods_ , he growled with derision – were truly muggles that had stolen magic away from that of true witches and wizards, and so squibs came to be. And yet, despite the muggleborns being seen as entirely at fault, squibs were also to be equally despised for allowing their magic to be stolen away in the first place. And any pure-blooded witch or wizard who supported muggleborns was seen as a traitor taking the side of the _thievish and lying mudbloods_. It made so much sense at the time to my young mind, that even now some small distant part of me believes it – if not all of it then part.

So, I sit here before you alone wallowing in my regret, wondering, and yet knowing, where I went wrong.

I was fifteen years old (nearly sixteen but not quite) when I took the dark mark and officially became a Death Eater. One of the Dark Lord’s chosen few. A _privilege_. A curse. Unlike most, I did it for a very simple reason. Not for revenge or hatred upon muggleborns. Not for ambition or any illusions of grandeur. I did for my family. My foolish, selfish, scorned father. My graceful, gentle, distant but still loving mother. In truth, I wanted no real part of it. But to protect them, I sacrificed my innocence, my sense of right and wrong, my reputation. I sacrificed everything I had, everything I was, in an effort to protect them in the hopes that, one way or another, my family would survive the war.

And, at least in that, I succeeded.

Was it worth it? I don’t know.

…

I’m not entirely sure it was.

And, as such, it was when I was fifteen – and later sixteen – that I was given a terrible, impossible task. _In order to atone for the failures of your father_ , they said. _An honour_ , they claimed. _A punishment_ , they whispered to one another.

I was to fix the vanishing cabinet hidden within the come-and-go room that was connected to another located within Borgin and Burke’s. This would allow my fellow… Death Eaters to sneakily break into Hogwarts without anyone the wiser.

…

I was to kill Albus Dumbledore.

I may never have much liked the old codger, but I did respect him and I certainly had no wish to harm him. Or anybody really. But I had to. I had to. I had no choice. Or, well, it felt as though I had no other choice.

If I’m entirely honest, I was… desperate for much my sixteenth year. If I failed then my mother’s life would be forfeit. If I succeeded… Well, at the time, I couldn’t think about what might occur if I succeeded. Except for in my darkest moments, where the lives of all who might die by my hand, even indirectly, weighed heavily on my mind.

When Potter hit me with that spell that tore me apart, I was almost glad and a surprisingly large part of me hoped that would be the end of it. That I would I lay there and bleed out on that dirty, murky bathroom floor and my last thoughts would be of relief. But, as it happens, Professor Snape arrived in time and saved me. Even though, I do not believe I deserved it.

In my desperation, I bought a cursed necklace and cast imperius on Madam Rosmerta in order for her to pass that very same necklace onto Katie Bell and then imperius her to take it to Professor Dumbledore. In my desperation, I laced a bottle of mead with poison and used the imperiused Madam Rosmerta to give it to Slughorn in the hopes that he might give it to Dumbledore. In my desperation, I fixed the broken vanishing cabinet, allowed Death Eaters entrance into Hogwarts and disarmed Dumbledore claiming I would kill him.

I didn’t… I couldn’t kill him. Murder… It just wasn’t… isn’t in me.

My desperation is not an excuse for all that I did. Not at all. It is merely a reason. It is always important to know the reason. I am not trying to excuse my actions.

But, I regret it. I regret all of it. If I could go back and do it over again, change it, I would. Even if that meant I might die. I would.

The following year at Hogwarts was madness. The Carrows prowled the corridors keeping an eye out for any they could _punish_. Torture. Places that had once been filled with light and laughter were but bleak and empty hollow husks of themselves. Fear hung in the air so heavily you could almost taste it.

It was… unspeakably awful.

It might seem unbelievable to you, but I tried to protect any who I saw in harm’s way – regardless of house or blood status. Most especially the younger years. Third years, second years, _first years_ , who shouldn’t even understand the meaning of crucio. But they did. As much I tried to make sure that they didn’t. They did.

I still hear their screams in my nightmares. And in the daytime I remember them weeping on each other’s shoulders and flinching away from me if I came too close.

When I was home during the holidays, I was expected to follow along with the others of _my kind_. Death Eaters. I tried to avoid it as best I could because it made my stomach turn and skin crawl. But sometimes I couldn’t. Sometimes aunt Bella would catch me out, drag me along on a… ‘family excursion’ and _convince_ me to cast crucio on any old poor unsuspecting muggle we might find. Sometimes a group of… _us_ would go down to the dungeons and torture whoever was there at the time. Even if I didn’t have to participate, which I often didn’t with being seen as too ‘soft’, I still had to stand and watch them writhe on the floor in pain and listen to their ear-piercing screams.

I still hear them now.

… Did you know I watched Hogwarts’ own Muggle Studies Professor, Charity Burbage, be eaten alive by You-know-who’s python? I just… Sat there at that empty dinner table with the other… Death Eaters and watched. I watched her beg. I watched her cry. I just watched.

I was so scared.

Terrified.

But now I’m just remorseful. If I could go back and change it for the better then I would.

The only ‘good’ thing of significance that I did was be too much of coward to be brave and lie but be too desperate to give in. When the snatchers brought Harry Potter and his friends in and asked me to identify him… I… said that I didn’t know. That I… couldn’t be sure.

But, I was sure. I knew it was Potter.

I would recognise Potter even if I was half-blind and half-deaf and he had just recovered from the dragonpox.

But I was too scared to lie and say it definitely wasn’t him and too desperate for You-know-who to be defeated, for all that madness to just… end, to give him up.

That was the only truly good thing I did. And I doubt it made any difference anyway.

I didn’t fight in the Battle for Hogwarts, though I was there. I stuck with Crabbe and Goyle, at first. We were just loitering in a hallway and… surviving when we noticed Potter, Weasley and Granger run into the come-and-go room. I… I wanted to just survive the battle. To just, leave it be. But Crabbe… He was full of some sort of… darkness that I could not penetrate. He was determined to catch them and gain the glory. And Goyle was more than happy to follow along. I should have just separated from them. But I’d spent much of my developing years with them stood at my shoulders and in the midst of battle I felt safer with them than without. Plus, it was only Potter, Granger and Weasley – formidable certainly but no army.

I didn’t… Expect any of what happened to occur. I think I expected it would be much like any of our previous childish schoolboy skirmishes. But it wasn’t. We were no longer rivals but enemies in a war that tore apart our nation. I held up my wand but I was too conflicted and too much of a coward to do anything. But, Crabbe… He tried to crucio one of them, I don’t know which, though he failed. And when he saw his chance at glory slipping from between his fingertips, the darkness (and foolishness) in him prevailed. He created a fiendfyre that was so powerful and terrible it swallowed him whole and killed him. It would have killed Goyle and I too if not for Potter, Weasley and Granger being unexpectedly… forgiving and saving us.

When I close my eyes, I still see that fiendfyre burning. And Crabbe’s terrified, pained screams as he burned to death.

I separated from Goyle after that. I don’t really remember what I did. I just survived. And when the battle was over my mother took my arm and father followed behind and we left.

That is all I know and all I did in the Second Great Wizarding War.

I… I will take whatever punishment you decide to give to me. Because I deserve it. I was young, foolish, naïve and desperately just trying to keep my family alive and just _survive_. But what I did... It was wrong. Torturing people, even if I didn’t want to. Endangering people’s lives, even if I felt I had no choice… It was wrong.

And I regret it. I regret it.

 

\- Draco Malfoy, 17 years old, at his trial before the Wizengamot.


End file.
